


Hollaback Girl

by meowgon



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-16
Updated: 2012-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-22 16:18:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowgon/pseuds/meowgon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If John Egbert makes the football team Dave Strider promises to become his personal cheerleader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Inspired by Ari's beautiful porn.](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lpzm2tFx6k1r1x80qo1_400.png)

It started out as a dumb joke. The dumbest joke. John's father had encouraged his son to try out for more extracurricular activities, maybe something healthy like a sport. Once his friends had finished laughing about the idea, they started suggesting teams for him.

'Tracks and fields,' sic, had been Jade's idea, while Rose suggested golf, but Dave picked the hands-down winner from the start.

Football, he'd said. Had to be football.

"Imagine it, Egbert, the biggest nerd in school making it onto the team. You'll be the smartest guy by a longshot. You can do all their homework or they'll beat the shit out of you."

"Wow, Dave, that doesn't make it sound like a great idea!" John laughed, but he looked dodgy as well, probably genuinely worried about a possible beatdown.

"No, no, I concur with Dave," Rose had piped in, an amused smile on her dark lips. "Your joining the football team would significantly raise their collective IQ, and be an entertaining inversion of the typical 'football player' schema - largely media-fueled, I believe - we hold as American high school students."

"Yeah, I think it's a great idea!" Jade said, adding her own two cents. "You'd look so cool in the uniform and you're a really fast runner, John! Besides, most of the football boys are actually pretty nice! A bunch of them are in my English class and we talk about hunting all the time." Which was typical Jade, bonding with meatheads over shooting wild animals and their mutual failure at understanding grammar homework.

But John had still looked unconvinced, his buckteeth (which, after years of forgotten retainers, were officially declared ‘untamed’) digging into his bottom lip as he considered the idea. Dave racked his brain for an incentive, then acted fast to save the most ironic idea he'd had in years.

"Listen, Egbert, if you make it onto the team I will be your personal cheerleader. Get the skirt and everything, rah-rah, hollaback girl, oh-Johnny-you're-so-fine, the works. Strider's honor."

John had tilted his head, the gears clearly turning in his mind's eye, before he grinned and agreed to do it. Cheering mentally at his own brilliance, Dave offered his friend a fist bump of support.

The problem: John was not supposed to actually _make_ the football team. That was part of the joke.

However, in the immortal words of Jade Harley: he totally did!!


	2. Chapter 2

John Egbert is fucking awesome at football.

What the fuck, right? God knows why; Dave certainly doesn’t. Something about the way John runs like the wind and throws with surprising ability and acts as a team leader even under pressure. Dave’s not even sure which direction John’s supposed to throw the football (does it go between the goal posts? over the white lines?) but by all accounts, the other boy knows and does it amazingly. Woo hoo.

Amazing enough that, since joining the team and taking them straight to several victories, he’s ascended the high school social escheladder like a champ. His launch from ‘lowly nerd’ to ‘star player’ happens almost over night, taking his only friends by surprise.

Friday afternoon, nobody knows who John is. Saturday morning, there’s a ‘like’ page on Facebook for the guy. By Sunday, there are 300 thumbs up, and when Monday rolls around, even Rose, Jade, and Dave are cool by association with John, some of the light of his sporting glory rubbing off on them. When a jock in Biology class slaps Dave on the shoulder, calls him “Egbert’s bud,” and announces them lab partners for the day, he rather misses the ‘don’t talk to Strider, he’s an asshole with a crazy brother and a sword collection’ attitude he was previously graced with. It took years to get a reputation as untouchable, then John goes and blows it out of the water by passing a ball really well a couple times and dodging giant dudes trying to crush him. Kind of blows.

But there are small blessings. Despite his rise to sports stardom, the invites to parties, the requests for dates from doe-eyed bachelorettes, John stays as down-to-Earth and derpy as he ever was. The quartet’s table at lunch remains free of other visitors (John says they need their alone time) and Dave still dominates considerable amounts of his friend’s alone-after-school time, when Rose and Jade don’t have their paws on him.

Much as he likes the two of them - they are his other best friends - it’s hard to get his mack on with John when they’re around. Hell, it’s hard enough when they’re _not_ around, because John’s timid like a blushing schoolgirl whenever Dave gets his hands on him, and not the horny catholic kind they always show in porn. Their relationship has barely crawled forward since it started, moving achingly slowly from first base to second, then stalling out at second for a good month and a half, until Dave finally makes a push for third with a handjob on the couch in his living room. John enjoys it, seems to return the favor with enthusiasm, but then they’re stuck back at second because the boy gets shy all over again. Respecting boundaries is cool and all, but damn if he doesn’t want to curse Egbert’s shyness to a dark place somewhere.

Bases, man. Bases are the bane of Dave’s existence.

Bases are from baseball, not football, aren’t they? Fuck if he knows, sports are useless to a coolkid of his caliber, and he’s never bothered with them. Although, John does look good in his football jacket, he’ll give it that. And the other boy’s fit but undefined body has grown more toned since he started exercising regularly. Plus the way his already-tan skin has darkened is pretty fucking acceptable, especially when Dave meets him after practice, still damp from the showers.

Okay, maybe Dave was harshing on football’s worth a little too much before. Football is all right in his book.

So Egbert joining the jock flock hasn’t been such a bad thing, Dave can roll with it, even if uniforms are for chumps. But there’s a lingering problem.

The guy just won’t let the damn cheerleader thing go.

\---

“But you promised, man, why not?” John whines for the tenth time, and it’s really getting old.

“I told you, the contract’s null and void ‘cause you were never supposed to be good at sports. Full disclosure wasn’t given, bro, no court would hold me,” he answers the next time John asks, trying to put an end to the discussion.

“Aw, come on, what about Strider honor?” John tries puppy dog eyes, which fail miserably, cute as they are.

“Yeah, we don’t actually have any of that. Sucks for you.”

“What, jeez, don’t you have some sort of warrior’s code or something?” John asks, leaning closer to Dave with a grin on his face. It’s an attempt to be charming, probably, but Dave’s unfazed by his lackluster efforts, knowing he’ll quit as soon as he hears what he wants.

“Are you forgetting my brother’s a dirty smuppetpeddler and I’m a convicted thief? We don’t have a code of anything.”

John laughs and musses Dave’s hair, rolling his eyes behind his glasses. “You got community service for shoplifting a Snickers when you were twelve, dude, that doesn’t make you a thief.” His arms fall over the blond’s shoulders, resting in a sort-of embrace. It's downright bold, for Egbert.

“Tell that to my juvenile record.”

“Oh yeah Dave, you’re such a rebel, my big bad--”

Boyfriend, he thinks John might say, hopeful, even though he knows the other boy is practically allergic to the word, but it never comes. Before he can say anything else, John pulls away, hands falling to his sides. Dave doesn’t have to turn around to _know_ Bro just walked into the room, from the way his friend is blushing.

“Oh, hey Mr. Strider, uh, I mean Bro, sorry!” John chirps, all stumbling words and awkward shifting. “Uh, you know I actually have some homework to do, you should do yours for once Dave, catch you later, I’ve got practice tomorrow but we can meet up after, Jade’s been wanting to see a movie, and it’s dollar sushi night, so we can all hang out!” By the time John’s done speaking, he’s gathered up his backpack and slunk towards the doorway, nodding as he scoots past Bro.

“Bye, see you at school!” he calls, waving one last time before shutting the door gently.

Dave glares at his brother from behind his shades as soon as the door is shut. “Cockblock.”

“You never get any with that kid anyway.”

“Dude, creepy.” Dave settles back on the couch, turning away from Bro.

“Whatever. Heard you talking with your little boyfriend about some cheerleader thing, what’s up with that?” Bro leans over the back of the couch, arms casually draping across the back as he looks at the TV (still on a forgotten video game he and John had abandoned playing long ago).

“Bad call, Bro, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Right, do you give handjobs to all your friends or just the cute ones?”

It’s Dave’s turn to blush at that, though not nearly as hard as Egbert was earlier. Damn, he’d told John to keep quiet, but figures Bro would’ve heard anyway. “Nah, just the sexually confused ones. Got this enormous hard-on for closeted kids, lemme tell ya.”

“You’re playing dodgeball on me with the cheerleader bet, Dave, spit it out.”

“Egbert and his skirt fetish are bad enough, don’t tell me you’re getting in on this. Still know the number to CPS by heart, Bro.”

“Only gettin’ involved ‘cause a man’s got to keep his promises. Don’t like hearing Strider’s aren’t supposed to have any honor, little bro.”

“Christ, fine," Dave says with a sigh, giving in. "I promised him I’d dress up like a cheerleader if the football team would stoop low enough to take him. Which, considering he got in and he's like everyone’s personal jesus since joining, means I’m sunk.”

Bro actually snorts, which makes Dave turn his head to look at his brother, who’s looking right back. “Kid, does this mean you’re dating the quarterback?”

Dave pauses, turning that over in his mind. When his guardian puts it like that, it _is_ kind of ironic. All the cute girls are after John’s famous tail, writing him love notes, but they can’t find him because he’s over at his best bro’s house, getting on with the gay make-outs. Covertly.

Yeah, it’s pretty great. “Let’s say I’m not _not_ dating the quarterback.”

“Sixteen and you’re already the princess of Sweet Valley High. Gotta say I’m impressed. Lemme know if you make Homecoming Queen, I’ll buy you a big bouquet to cry into.”

“Oh, I’m already starting up my campaign, got my girlfriends out on the street drumming up support, gonna go viral in a heartbeat,” Dave says with a roll of his eyes, glad they’re off the cheerleader subject, at least.

“Has it occurred to you your closet-case likes the idea of you in a skirt?”

“I...” What. First, that’s an abrupt return to the subject. Second, Bro can’t be serious. John’s treated the whole thing like a big joke, a victory for his Prankster’s Gambit, there’s no way, no matter how persistent he’s been, it can’t be because he wants to... John’s too vanilla to ever... but what if...

Huh. “No way, Bro.”

“Just sayin’.”

“ _Shit_.” Dave blinks, taking that in. “...Guess I should hit eBay, huh. A promise is a promise.”

Bro makes a sound of disdain at the suggestion. “Don’t buy some cheap Halloween costume shit, that’s half-assing it.”

“Meh, a slutty skirt’s a slutty skirt, you seen one you seen ‘em all,” Dave says with a shrug, reaching for his laptop that’s stashed under the couch where nobody will step on it.

“I probably got something in your size if you want it.”

Dave stops, blinks, and looks up at his brother incredulously, both eyebrows shooting up over his shades. “ _Bro_. CPS. Speed dial.”

“Quit whining like a little bitch, princess, I’m doing you a favor.” Bro sounds so nonchalant about it that Dave pauses and reconsiders.

If John really wants him in a skirt for _sex_ , not a joke, well--Dave would have to be stupid and _not_ a horny teenager to refuse the option that gets him laid. And last time he checked, he’s pretty damn smart and pretty horny on top of it, with a boyfriend who only makes it worse. Or a friend with benefits. Friend who is supposed to have benefits but mostly only gives sexual frustration.

Maybe he can change that.

“Promise you’ve never used it in a movie and I’ll take it.”

“Strider’s honor.”

Dave groans, but he accepts Bro's offer anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

“Egbert, I need some help with the extra math bullshit Brown assigned me, think I can come over? Get you to go all private tutor on my ass?”

“Whoa, Dave, are you actually doing your homework? For real?” John’s voice sounds skeptical, especially on the second sentence. Damn, he’s onto him.

“It might be an excuse to neck on your bed.” Or better, if he’s lucky, but he doesn’t want to scare John off.

“Jeez, you really should do your homework instead, don’t you think?”

“Nope.”

Laughing, John holds the phone away from his mouth to cover the sound, but Dave can hear the fight going out of him with it. “Fine, fine, come on over. I’ll let you in when you get here, my Dad’s out.”

 _Hell. Fuck. Yes._

\---

Egbert’s perfect suburban brownstone stands looking empty and lonely with just one light on. The evening is new, with a chill settling into the air, threatening winter. Dave’s glad he brought plenty of clothes to wear _before_ putting on the skimpy outfit, and his jacket too. Nerves have him shifting from foot to foot as he listens for John’s footsteps coming to the door. If he lets himself settle for a moment, takes a second of inaction, he notices his pulse racing in his ears or the way his fingers are clenching on his backpack, and that won’t do.

“Yo,” Dave says when the other boy finally opens up, stepping over the house’s threshold and right past John. His shoes come off with a kick and he immediately heads for the stairs, up towards his friend’s familiar room.

“Hey, where’re you going?” John asks, shutting the door with a thump and moving to catch up with him. “I figured we’d watch TV or something...?”

“Nah. I was promised necking and what if precious Daddy Egbert comes home in the middle of that? No thanks.” He keeps moving as if John never spoke, striding ahead confidently.

“You weren’t promised anything!” John complains, but he follows anyway as the blond walks up the stairs, his fingers ghosting up the handrail a few inches behind Dave’s. “You’re awfully pushy tonight, dude.”

“Got it in one, Egbert. Wait up and I’ll be there in a few minutes.” With that, he shuts himself in the bathroom, smirking at the indignant noise the other boy makes when the door slams in his face.

His backpack quickly divulges the skimpy red uniform: a midriff-baring top, tiny skirt that covers his ass and about an inch spare, maybe, plus some long socks, thigh-high, an orange wristband, and a pair of clean sneakers. The outfit is a strange mixture of indecent and innocent, the kind of thing pervs love to see on pretty young things, manufactured to seduce. As he shucks his clothing and slides into his new garments, he prays that John is that breed of perv.

Otherwise, this is going to be embarrassing.

\---

Clutching his backpack (now filled with his normal clothing) in one hand , Dave waits outside of John’s room for at least a minute and a half, on the verge of losing his cool. Should he knock? Should he scrap the whole idea? Should he just get it over with and endure the other boy inevitably laughing at him? Should he get the hell in there before Mr. Egbert gets back?

Thinking about John’s dad catching him like this sets his determination. Throwing the heavy white door open with a bang, he tosses his backpack out of the way, against the boy’s computer desk. John squeaks and sits up from where he was lying on his bed, startled. Processing the image in front of him seems to take a moment, but then his blue eyes go wide and dark like a cat who’s just gotten a taste of catnip and is considering pouncing on the next thing that moves. Finding the look incredibly gratifying, Dave takes a step forward, his confidence renewing a few points. Before speaking and possibly breaking the spell he hedges his bets, shuts the door, and locks it behind him.

“Hey, Mister Star Player. One cheerleader, just as ordered,” Dave says, trying to sound cocky, his hands resting on his hips. Inside, under the thin layer of fetishist clothing and pokerface, he feels completely ridiculous--but John doesn’t have to know. “You can quit bitching about me not keeping my promises, huh?”

“Uh,” John answers, staring unabashedly, his eyes roving long sweeps up and down the blond’s scantily-clad body, lingering on the abrupt cut-off of his skirt. “Uh, wow, Dave. Are you... wearing...?”

“Not underwear, that’s for sure.”

“ _Guh_.”

Dave smirks as the shocked sound leaves his friend’s mouth, confidence reaching new, higher tiers. Even as the other stands and moves towards him, an intense look on his face, the blond can’t resist unleashing a wave of teasing.

“Yeah, you’re into this fine get-up, aren’t you? Thought you might wanna make a big joke out of this, ha-ha, Dave in a skirt, what a laugh, but no way, you’re unironically jonesing for the cheerleader cock. You basically begged me for it! We’d never win another game if they swapped out the skinny bimbos for a line of cute guys shaking their asses in mini-skirts, admit it, got you pegged--”

“ _Dave._ Shut. Up.” John ends Dave’s rambling abruptly by pulling him into a sloppy kiss, all swiping tongue and uncertain, searching hands, fingers exploring the borders between skin and tight fabric.

On a scale of one to passionate-mad-hot-sexy- _yes_ , the kiss blows the scale off the hook and sends most of the blood in his body straight to his dick, leaving him lightheaded in John’s arms. But it’s okay, because the other boy presses him backwards without breaking the kiss, bringing their hips together with a thump as Dave hits the door. Glad for John’s sturdiness, the blond drapes both arms over his shoulders and continues the kiss with vigor, only breaking it long enough to grab breaths of air.

“Helluva cheerleader fetish you got yourself, Egbert,” Dave purrs against his partner’s swollen lips, still close as they both pause to catch a few gasping breaths. “Not turning into a real jock on me, are you?”

“What’re you gonna do if I am?” John answers with a breathless laugh, one calloused hand grabbing Dave’s ass in a show of boldness that makes him gasp with surprise, then blush and turn his head away from the other’s amused face. Internally digging for a cover, he pulls out the tried-and-true sarcasm defense.

“Oh, I love jocks, put the jacket on for me big boy.” Leaning back against the door, he lifts one leg and hooks it around John’s hips. “I’m so hot for your ability to carry a ball while running, can I feel your muscles while you tell me about all of your highest scoring goals?”

“Goals are from soccer, Dave.”

“Sometimes I get confused, I’m just a blond y’know.” Batting his eyelashes doesn’t work great with mirror shades in the way, but John seems to get the joke from the way he chuckles, grabs Dave’s thigh for leverage, and rolls their hips together. Grinding back eagerly (this is the most action he’s gotten in ages), the tiny red skirt hitching further up around his waist from the motion, he can feel how hard John is inside his jeans. But just when he’s considering undoing them, getting his hand in the other’s pants and improving significantly on their first - and so far, last - handjob experience, the dark-haired boy pulls away and turns his back.

“H, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this has gotten a positive response! Short update, shockingly I'm stalled on the porn which is amazing if you know me as I usually write all that _first_.
> 
> Also, I just wanted to add a note that I had a nerdy friend in high school who was in band, aced Calculus, and played on the football team, all at the same time. John's amazing nerd-multi-tasking abilities cannot even compare to his.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting for this, everyone. There will be a wrap-up chapter coming right after this, promise.
> 
> Also concluded Rose/Jade is a thing in this too. Kind of tempted to write something for them too...

“John...?”

Dave says the name before he can stop himself, reaching out an unsteady hand after the other’s retreating form. His heart jumps into his throat like it had a right to be there. What did he do wrong _this_ time, did he push too hard or make the wrong joke, the wrong movement? Shy’s one thing, he can work with shy, but why is it always one step forward, two steps back with the two of them? Whose fault is it? Even when John makes the first move, they stall--a rainy Sunday peck on the cheek plus a stuttered apology lisped through nervous front teeth equals a month of avoidance, a month of sympathetic noises from Jade and psychoanalysis from Rose. Rinse and repeat with holding hands, with a real kiss right on the lips, with the first hint of fingers touching hidden skin. He thought they were getting past their hesitations.

Dave’s heart promptly drops back into its proper position when he sees John’s grabbing a piece of clothing off the floor, where it was casually tossed on top of a pile of other discarded garments. It’s his team jacket, the one with his name and number on the back, a ‘one of us’ signifier every football player wears. There’s no choice in it either; it’s required by the school on game days, whether they like it or not. Otherwise, John probably would have forgotten about it and kept on wearing his worn-out jackets with uncool logos. John shrugs it on, smooths out the sleeves, then looks across the room with the most shit-eating grin Dave has ever seen grace his goofy face.

Punching John right in the smug mouth sounds _amazing_ after the burst of self-doubt he just endured because the other boy wanted a stupid football jacket.

“Figured if you’re dressing up and getting into character, maybe I should too,” John says, suddenly sounding much more cocky than before. Dave’s a little jealous of the lack of strain in his voice. When did Egbert grow a smooth gene? Somehow, the jacket doesn’t look as ridiculously out-of-place on John as it did when he first started wearing it.

Intensely aware of John’s eyes on him, Dave shifts awkwardly, unsure how to stand or where to put his hands. Fact of life, short skirts were not designed for guys with boners. Trying to readjust his outfit is almost impossible because there’s just not enough fabric, and when he looks up and sees John staring between his legs, his cock _pulses_ with desire and doesn’t help the problem _at all_.

“Great, Egbert, you look like a proper braindead meathead now.” Dave’s voice holds more edge than he intended. His hands keep self-consciously trying to tug the hem of his skirt down as John just... _looks_ at him, only a few steps away but far enough to seem like a voyeur. Why won’t he come _back_? As usual, Egbert’s oblivious to all matters, emotional, romantic, sexual, he’ll probably call it all off in a minute, just as Dave’s getting hopeful, eager even--

“I’ve never seen you squirm like that,” John murmurs in a thick voice, effectively derailing the blond’s moody thoughts with the sound of wanting each word carries on its back. It does _things_ , dirty, filthy things to his arousal, ramping up his heartbeat all the way to eleven.

“Dave, come here. ...Please?” John’s ‘please’ is almost an afterthought, and something about his tone has Dave hurrying forward as quickly as he can, blood pounding in his ears. He’s sure if anyone else saw the blush on his face he’d _never_ regain his cool reputation - no matter how many shitty swords he smuggled into school - but cool doesn’t seem to matter as much when the other boy gets both arms around him and kisses him hard.

“Finally remembered you got a pair, huh, Egbert?” Dave teases when they pull apart, unable to hold back the sarcasm always lingering at the tip of his tongue.

“You know, cheerleaders are supposed to be positive!" John scolds, that grin taking over his face again. “Gonna have to shut you up if you won't do it right.”

Dave’s eyes go wide behind his shades, his traitorous cheeks burning hot. Internally, he curses, but he can’t look away from the other’s face.

“L, like you could.” Shit, did he just stutter? Gotta cover, gotta keep talking. “Can’t keep a Strider mouth from flappin’, we’re unflappable, unstoppable,” oh god, he can’t stop talking, he wants to but he can’t end his stream of words because John is edging him back for some reason and the look in his bright blue eyes (somewhere between amused and hungry) is freaking Dave out at the same time it’s turning him on. “Did I mention phenomenal, I can do this all night, more than capable, you wanna hear more, I’m able-- _ah!_ ”

He bumps up against the impediment of John’s computer desk, derailing his hurried rhymes and dragging a yelp out of his throat. Making it far, far worse, the other boy grabs his hips and flips him around, pressing his thighs against the solid border of the desk. The sound of unzipping and fabric rustling sounds indecently loud in the quiet of the room, ringing over his noisy, faltering breath. John pressing his exposed cock against his backside shouldn’t be a surprise but he twitches and moans like it is, trying to press back, wishing for more stimulation and less drawn-out teasing, even if this is way, way more than he expected out of the night.

“Spread a little bit more,” John says, as if lost in thought, touching Dave’s hips and the curve of his back and down, pushing aside fabric, leaving goosebumps on the blond’s skin wherever he goes. “No, like this.” John’s firm hand grabs his thigh and urges it up onto the desk, leaving Dave balanced on one foot. His hands brace against the top of the desk, holding his body in place, but it’s not the steadiest he’s ever felt.

“Fuck, who put you in charge? Gonna fall on my ass in a heartbeat,” he complains under his breath, nervous about his exposed position and the crawly feeling in his spine and the back of his neck that assures him John is staring at every inch of him.

“Didn’t anybody teach you? If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” Warm fingers press against his mouth, urging it open. Dave brushes his tongue against the underside of the invading digits, smirking to himself when John hisses and grinds against his ass. Score one for him. He tries to comment, but he can only make a garbled sound around the other’s fingers. Yeah, that’s not very effective.

“Wow, Dave Strider, speechless all because of me! This is kind of fun.” He sounds so happy Dave wants to lean back and kick him. Somehow, his body interprets that as wanting to moan indecently and suck on John’s fingers. What choice does he have in the matter? His lips are traitors.

“Is it okay if I...” The other’s voice trails off, but his hand keeps moving, and in another second Dave can feel a hesitant finger against his entrance and, _oh_ , that’s kind of... something. Good something or bad something?

He wavers, unsure. One or two fingers pushed inside himself, he’s tried it alone a few times, but the odd angle and foreign feeling held little appeal for him. Not that he’d knock it for anybody else, but it wasn’t a thing for him, whatever. Testing it seemed obligatory, like an Amazon list with further recommendations he needed to browse. ‘Enjoy looking at guys? Then you may also like giving handjobs, sucking dick, or taking it up the ass, get all three for a low price when you check out today...’

God, even when his mouth isn’t running, his brain never shuts off. John needs an answer.

There’s something about the other boy’s body heat, the way he’s pressed close and hard and intoxicating (the smell of him is everywhere), that makes Dave nod an affirmative, despite his uncertainty.

John grabs for an object in his desk drawer--lotion, the blond registers after a moment, wishing his voice weren’t muffled so he might tease the other boy about what kind of spank stash he’s got on the computer for when his boyfriend’s not around. The feeling of cold liquid on his hot skin makes him jump and effectively silences his train of thought, while he tenses on instinct. It’s always felt weird to have something foreign pushing inside him, no matter how gently the intrusion is paced, and this time is no exception.

“Come on, you’re the one always telling me to relax and go with the flow,” John says, humming into his ear, before kissing his neck.

The soft sound reminds Dave of afternoons with John leaning together ignoring their homework in favor of stupid movies and talking about nothing, hands intertwined or not, depending on their mood. Groaning internally at his brain (what a time to get mushy), he blushes, quietly relieved the other can’t see his face.

After a moment, enough time for him to unwind his muscles and get his chill back, or at least a semblance of it, the other boy lays a kiss on his jaw and moves again. This time, his finger slides up and inside easily, drawing a strangled noise out of Dave.

Oh, that’s-- _different_ , different than his own experiments by far. It must be something about John, his weight pressed heavy against him, having him close enough to feel and smell and--not touch, not from his position, but... no, wait. Reaching up, he takes the other’s wrist and draws it away from his mouth so he can kiss the underside.

John laughs and leans over his shoulder, pressing his lips to Dave’s red cheek. “You’re adorable,” the boy says, lips still against Dave’s skin. He wriggles his finger, making the blond utter another noise, closer to a moan than before.

“F-fuck you, try hot as hell, thanks,” Dave gasps out when he gets his breath back, squeezing John’s wrist.

“Shh, you didn’t get speaking privileges back yet! Now I have to punish you. Um... somehow.”

Dave shivers - John’s still moving his hand and it’s weird but the sensation makes it hard to think as well - and turns his head to glare at the dark-haired boy from behind his shades. “You’re s-shitting me, right?”

“Bad Dave!” John can’t keep the laugh out of his chastisement, but he sounds serious about the punishment. “Hmm... Oh!” Chuckling, he pulls his hand out of Dave’s grip and reaches for his shades. The blond draws back a fraction of an inch, a wince crossing his face, but he stops with a sigh. They come off easily, and John sets them down with a little clack on the desk top.

“See, that wasn’t so terrible!” John’s voice is a chirp, sounding more pleased with himself than should be legal, according to Dave’s law books. He considers several comebacks, mostly unintelligent ones involving the other boy going and fucking himself, but suddenly there’s another finger pushing past his barriers, John’s free hand is reintroduced to his mouth, and any comebacks vanish from his mind. Nothing has more of his focus than the way John’s fingers are moving rough and quick inside him, scrambling his nerves, forcing him to unsteadily grip the desk to hold his balance.

When the other boy’s thrusting hits just the right angle Dave _whines_ , shuddering with the burst of sensation running up his spine. It’s hard to catch his breath or thing, but still he’s asking himself, why weren’t they doing this before, why aren’t they doing more _now_? Hazily, he wonders how long it’ll take to convince the other boy to do this again. Will it take less time or more time than the weeks between kissing and touching? A week? A month? Will he have to wear the skirt every time?

If so, it’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make.

Moaning against the other’s hand, he considers begging, but he settles for little sounds, not-words that won’t have John scolding him again, that protect his pride as well. It’s embarrassing enough to think the other can see his face, the way his eyebrows are drawn together, and he shuts his eyes to block out the awareness. His face, his whole body is hot from more than just embarrassment; if heat were water he’d be drowning in an ocean of it, sharks gathering up a big party to laugh while he chokes, Dave Week, when Daves attack, why oh why doesn’t his brain ever shut up? The gasps leaking from John’s mouth behind him as the boy grinds against his ass don’t help Dave’s oxygen supply, only make it harder to breathe.

John’s hand moves way; the one covering his mouth, that is, not the one not occupied dragging noises out of him like he’s a puppet on his boyfriend’s fingers-- _oh god oh god_ , no, he’s thinking about puppets during sex, he’s going to die, his life is over, Bro has officially ruined everything, may as well kill him now--except John’s hand comes back, wraps around his cock and strokes him, cleanly wiping away the thoughts of puppets. A few rough jerks of the other’s hand, in time with the fingers pressing inside him, and he can’t think of anything anymore, can only feel the shaky pleasure of release overtaking him.

“God, Dave, you’re so... _fuck_.”

Realizing John’s removed his fingers, Dave tries to shift around, but everything’s fuzzy and he can’t feel his legs, so he stays where he is. He’s vaguely aware of the boy hurriedly jerking off behind him, and his numb mind tells him he should help, but instead he slumps forward across John’s messy (now messier) desk, catching his breath. John’s own breath hitches, low and quiet, and it’s apparent he’s handled the issue himself when come splatters across Dave’s his skin, undoubtedly staining the short skirt ruched up around his hips.

“G, gonna have to wash that out later, Egbert,” Dave says quietly, wincing as he tries to lower his leg without falling over. It’s not very successful, but John catches him before he can tumble to the ground.

“I think I can handle that, we’ve got a washing machine!” John responds with a laugh, sounding too cheerful and composed for his own good.

“Yeah, I don’t mean the dumb skirt, dude.” It’s almost a relief for the blond when John gasps in shock and flips out over the jizz covering the top of his desk, his calculus book, and part of his homework. Good to know he’s just as goofy as before, temporary fluke of sexy-coolness or not.

“Jeez, Dave, how could you? This book is a _loan_ , I have to give this back in perfect condition and now it’s gonna smell gross all year! Not to mention rewriting this whole assignment, no way am I turning this in with a big sticky stain on it.”

“Fucking wipe it off and tell your teacher you spilled something on it, who cares,” Dave answers as he drops across John’s bed - sneakers and all - his whole body feeling boneless and content. Frantic cleaning noises reach his ears, but he can’t be assed to look up for even a second.

“Ugh, now everything smells like it, I’m never going to get the sex smell out of my jacket, I’ve gotta wear this on Friday, you know!”

“I’m never going to get the smell of your jacket out my sex memories, and that’s so much worse.” Shutting his eyes, Dave lets a faint smile play across his lips. Yeah, this went pretty fucking acceptably.

“ _Dave_ , you’re such an insufferable prick. Move over, you’re hogging the bed.”

The sound of fabric hitting the ground tempts Dave into lazily openly his eyes, but he doesn’t see much before ending up with an armful of boy, shirtless and boxer-clad. Also highly acceptable, he decides, as he leans back against John.

“That was fun.”

“No shit, you totally have a fetish.”

“Shut up, do not.”

“Nah, it’s all good, I can dig it,” Dave says with a yawn, kicking his shoes off and concluding, sleepily, that’s enough for the moment.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-coital bliss, in which Dave was actually the worst boyfriend all along.

John’s cheap alarm clock reads 1 AM by the time Dave wakes up, tangled in long brown limbs, warm breath blowing gently against his shoulder.

 _Great_ , he’s been out for half the night. How the shitting christ did he manage that?

“Fuck, rise and shine bro, lemme up,” he mutters, trying to worm away. John moans and pulls him closer, shoving his nose into the crook of Dave's neck like a cat that’s been woken too early. It’s cute, but also really goddamn annoying.

“S’early. Don’t go.”

“We got school, dumbass, can’t stay all night.”

“Don’t go,” John says again, more awake this time.

“You want your dad wondering where I slept all night?”

When he doesn’t reply, Dave extracts himself by force, leaving John grumbling sleepily at his absence. He shivers in the late night air, wishing he had the sense to put some decent clothes on before passing out for hours. The siren song of blankets and body heat serenades him to linger a few minutes longer.

John takes advantage of his weakness and reaches out for him, eyes barely open--but he catches his hand all the same. 

“Just stay.”

With John’s thumb brushing the inside of his palm, Dave crumbles. 

\--

The next time Dave opens his eyes, there’s morning sun splaying in slants across John’s floor, and a knock echoing from his closed bedroom door.

“John? If I could have a moment before I leave for work?”

Dave’s up and across the room before John can answer, his hands blindly grabbing for his backpack while he dashes towards the window. It’s 8:00 in the morning already, but if he can just get out and shimmy the tree outside John’s dad won’t have to know about his sweet little dumpling and his cheerleader-with-a-crotch-rocket fetish, and...

Dave stops with his hands on the window sill and looks toward John. He’s still in the outfit, isn’t he?

He is. And John’s grinning way too fucking hard for someone who just got caught with a crossdressing dude in his bed, even if the door’s still closed. Silently, Dave shakes his fist.

Ignoring him, John answers his father’s waiting presence. “Sorry Dad, I didn’t mean to get up so late.”

“That’s fine, son, I only wanted to check on you and let you know that there’s breakfast downstairs.”

“Breakfast?”

“Yes, breakfast. Something healthy for the both of you. I already called the school and informed him that you and Dave were quite sick from the raw cookie dough you foolishly ate last night.”

“Gross, why would we--”

“Neither of you need to attend school in such a state. Of course, Dave’s brother is his legal guardian and may have to write a note for Dave himself, but I left him a voicemail about the subject encouraging him to cooperate.”

Dave clutches the windowsill, unsure if he just heard all of that correctly. Unsure if he should still try to escape and pretend Mr. Egbert wasn’t aware of them post-coital snuggling for most of the night. His eyes go to John, begging for a suggestion, but John’s too busy staring at the door.

“Uh, yeah, thanks! We’ll try not to throw up on anything with our horrible e. coli or salmonella or whatever.”

“Good to know, son. I’m off to work, remember you can call if you need anything. And John--”

John groans, while Dave lets his cheek drop against the blinds over the window, the sudden sharp noise drowning out most of Mr. Egbert, though he hears the fatherly words in his head anyway:

“I’m so proud of you.”

\--

“All I am saying is your dad is simultaneously the chillest parental unit of all time and one embarrassing motherfucker.” 

“You don’t have to tell _me_ , Captain Obvious,” John says as they head downstairs. They agreed to wait until Mr. Egbert had drove away, to spare any further awkward supportiveness. “I live with him.” 

“Like getting a swirly from your favorite celebrity while they high-five you,” Dave continues from behind John, “and then they post the pics on Twitter, and you don’t know if your shame gland’s gonna spontaneously combust or you’re gonna put the picture on your wall, ‘cause like, let’s be real you gained a million followers from the whole incident.”

“Did you say something?” John’s way ahead of him, his head peeking out from inside the kitchen. “Shut up and get in here, there’s pancakes and bacon.”

There are, indeed, pancakes and bacon. Dave kind of expected it when John’s dad mentioned breakfast; the man is a baking legend, breakfast baking included. What neither of them expected was the stack of condoms next to the two plates of pancakes, or the “Be safe!” and “Congratulations!” written neatly in blueberry syrup.

“How did he even fit that on a fucking pancake?” Dave asks, dazed. He nearly misses the edge of the chair when he sits down.

John shakes his head, answerless.

\--

Beneath their forks, the pancakes lose their mortifying qualities and become nothing more than a tasty and amusing breakfast. The conversation moves between them smoothly, like nothing’s changed and everything is as good and friendly as it was before, no relationships ruined. John doesn’t bring up what they did last night, but he does pick up the condoms and start volleying them at Dave’s head, leading to a condom fight that wastes about five minutes of their surprise day-off.

From there, they wind up on John’s couch, their shoulders and thighs pressed together, John’s hand doing some weird dance on the top of Dave’s thigh. He could get used to this level of closeness, assuming it lasts for long. They’ve backslid too many times for him to get his hopes up. Whatever he says next, he shouldn’t go over the top, unless he wants to send John skittering back into his dark nerdy lair of heterosexuality.

“Really, your dad was surprisingly cool about his son working over some Strider tumescence on a school night, gotta give him some sweet cred for this.”

“Come on, you know him,” John says with a roll of his eyes, “he’s supportive of anything I do, he probably thinks we’re going to get married since we’ve been dating this long.”

Dave's heart almost stops in his chest, before it catches its breath and starts hammering at the cage of his ribs, looking for an escape. It feels almost like dying, like a heart attack, and he feels his shoulder seizing up against John’s. That's it, pronounce him stone-cold, take him to the morgue, donate his body to science, and scribble down the cause of death: blunt force emotional trauma from one John Egbert, declared innocent because no court would ever convict that face of murder.

“Say that again.”

“Huh?”

“About... dating,” Dave says, a humiliating quaver to his voice. Forget strange outfits, _this_ is embarrassment in its purest form, but. He wants to hear it again, clear and certain.

“Oh.” John hesitates, his hand abruptly lifting away, and Dave grabs his arms for fear he'll disappear upstairs and never be heard from again. “Uh, we are dating, aren't we?” John swallows, shrugs, looks at the ceiling. “I mean, you've never said anything about us but we have been doing dating things. I think last night definitely qualifies.”

“Of course we're dating, we've been dating for months.” Dave watches his (official, certified, serious, holy shit, _holy shit yes_ ) boyfriend's face melt into a smile. Awesome. They’re for real dating. Everything he’s worried about - John getting freaked, John not really wanting to do this - that’s off the table.

“Nice you finally said something! God, I thought you were going to waffle on it forever.”

Dave bristles. “Hold up now, _you’re_ the one who’s never said anything, can’t even get a ‘yo Dave that was nice’ when I kiss you, nothing!” 

“Dude, what? _You’re_ the single cagiest dumbass on the planet and it’s my fault for not speaking up? Fuck you!”

Dave glares in response, but John glares right back, as if he’s the wounded party here. God, the freaking out he has done over John’s silent responses to his affection and he’s the bad guy?

“Not all of us are dating masters, okay?" John says, "I thought, hey, maybe this is a fling and you’re doing your ironic thing.”

“No no _no_ you do not get to use the ‘Strider macks all the dudes up’ excuse, we both know just because I have charms doesn’t mean I run around swapping spit with every male in range.”

“You’ve had like a hundred boyfriends, that is 99 more than me. There was wheelchair kid, and the creepy clown, what were you even thinking with that one…”

“Fuck, you know I didn’t date the Juggalo--but wheelchair kid, really John? Class.”

“Oh my god, it was middle school! I don’t remember his name! Next time I’ll call him the mohawk kid or the even-worse-rapper-than-you-kid, sorry.” John throws up his hands, then sighs. “He was nice, whatever happened to him anyway?”

“He rode off into the sunset with the Juggalo. Or went to private school, i - d - k.” He shrugs.

“Wow, you have a really shitty track record, I take everything back.”

The glare on Dave’s face turns into a sullen frown. “I don’t believe this shit, do you even remember what happened after I kissed your nerdy ass? Fucking nada.”

“Yeah, I do remember!” John snaps, his face getting all up in Dave’s business as he leans close. (Dave can’t help but notice that he smells nice, but he keeps that to himself.) “I remember you kissing me out of the blue, then not saying anything afterwards! Looking at me with your stupid-dumb blank Strider face like I was supposed to know what you meant by it! And then the next day you acted like nothing had happened and Jade and Rose had to tell me you liked me but didn’t have the nerve to come out and say it.”

Dave swallows. Hadn’t he smiled after he kissed John? He felt like he must have, he’d been so happy that the kiss was returned. And when they held hands, god, who would do something so geeky if they weren’t in love? Nor did he dole out handjobs to anybody but John, that was a first time event for both of them. Didn't he _know_ that?

Excuses don't seem to matter, as John keeps complaining, “And you kept acting like everything was normal and nothing had changed! So, I figured it could be some weird bro-with-benefits thing like in the movies, except it's usually with girls.” With a sigh, John settles back, leaving Dave to recoup his lost personal bubble. “Assuming everyone speaks your silent, not-actually-cool language is ridiculous. You're ridiculous.”

“I thought it was obvious,” Dave finally says, faintly, and then, “sorry.”

A “rrgh” noise leaves John’s throat, and before he knows it, Dave can’t see because of the ferocious noogie being applied to his head. “I forgive you, even though you are still a horsebutt," a pause, then, "and maybe I was kind of awkward about dating you on top of everything else, okay?”

“Can I get a sorry too?”

“Don’t push your luck!”

\--

 **GG: dave!!! you better be ready for sushi tonight.  
GG: no excuses, bring your quarters :)  
TG: sup  
TG: surprised you weren't bustin up my inbox all night  
TG: dave oh dave wherefore art thou dave how could you be gone  
TG: how will we watch 16 and pregnant together now  
GG: oh, sorry i didnt even notice till you weren’t at school! rose and i were busy!!  
GG: scissoring!  
GG: (lol j/k!!!)  
GG: OR AM I????  
TG: damn gurl  
GG: anyway, say hi to john for me!**

“Yo, Jade says hi,” Dave calls over his shoulder. He grins to no one at all when he hears the clatter of John dropping one of the breakfast dishes he’s washing.

“ _Dave_ , don’t tell her you’re over here, she’ll get ideas!”

“I really don’t think you need to worry about what goes through that girl’s head.”

**TG: the hi from one fine lady has been offered to john on a silver platter of chivalry and manners  
GG: lol, okay dave, thank you.  
GG: school is boring with both of you gone.  
GG: hey, do you know what kind of flowers rose likes?  
TG: gonna go out on a fuckin limb and say not roses  
TG: contrariwise who knows maybe she loves them and you should cover her in black roses  
TG: rub them along her alabaster cheek  
TG: awaken the gothic passion deep inside her stacked bosoms  
TG: not that im interested in the bosoms as of late i mean  
TG: it is like a filthy gay porno in here  
TG: john is about to take my turgid tube steak down his love channel  
TG: im just too damn polite to let a message from you go though so he gotta wait  
GG: yeah right.  
GG: we both know you’re not that good at multitasking!  
GG: you can’t even mix and beatbox at the same time.  
GG: the rose idea’s really bad too, i think i’ll get her a cactus instead.**

“You’re telling her we had sex, aren’t you,” John calls, though he sounds less embarrassed than he did a moment ago. Progress.

“Believe it,” Dave says, and he decides to let the grin stay on his face. Wouldn’t hurt for his boyfriend to see it.

When he comes out of the kitchen, John has wet, wrinkly hands and a dish towel over his shoulder. He is one hundred percent the most gorgeous thing Dave’s ever seen, soap under his nails and everything. Those hands going to his shoulders feels better than finding four perfect rhymes in a row. 

"You are objectively the worst," John says in the voice Dave has learned is his sexy one. The kiss that follows goes down smoother than the five dollar apple juice they sell at Whole Foods. “Does that mean you want to do it again?”

“Dude, I think you are finally catching my drift.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA HA OH MY GOD I FINISHED IT
> 
> Never say I didn't do anything for you, JohnDave shippers.


End file.
